


Long Overdue

by phoenixflight



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky getting his memories back, Captain America wants YOU to return your library books, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Libraries, M/M, Post-Canon, responsible citizenship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: "Bucky, it’s been seventy years. It’s...” Steve sat up and squinted at the analog clock on the nightstand. “It’s three in the fucking morning.”“And?” Bucky pulled on a black shirt, the gleam of his arm vanishing under the fabric. “Books don’t get less overdue.”





	Long Overdue

Bucky bolted upright in bed gasping, and Steve rolled over instantly awake. “Buck?” His hands flexed in the sheets, but he didn’t reach out.

The room was lit by the orange glow of streetlights, the comforting brightness of New York the same as it had been since before the war. In dim light, the shadows under Bucky’s eyes and the lines on his face were difficult to see, but there was no mistaking this man for the one he had known in 1941. His posture was rigid, his chest heaving. Steve could see the whites of his eyes, shining in the dark. He kept his voice gentle. “Nightmare?”

Blinking at him, Bucky opened his mouth. Sometimes on nights like this he babbled in Russian or French, or recited strings of numbers and inscrutable code. Instead he said, “I never returned _The Sword in the Stone_.”

“What?”

“ _The Sword in the Stone_. I checked it out from the library that November when you had laryngitis, and I only read half of it to you before Pearl Harbor and then... everything happened and I don’t think I ever returned it.” He frowned. “I’m sure I never returned it.”

“Was that...” Steve wrinkled his nose. “The King Arthur book?”

Bucky looked at him, wide-eyed. “You remember.”

“I guess. Bucky, is it...” _Is it important_ , he was about to say, but bit that back. Bucky remembered. It was important. He smothered a yawn. “Someone might have returned it when they went through all the junk in our apartment.” Steve had never really been clear about the journey their meager worldly possessions had undergone before ending up mostly in the Smithsonian. Some of it had gone to Bucky’s family first, other things had been in packed away in the basement of some army facility before being donated. Surely someone along the way would have seen the Brooklyn Public Library stamp and returned the books. Come to think of it, he’d probably had some books checked out himself when he walked into that recruiting center. He hadn’t exactly taken time to put his affairs in order and cancel the paper, so to speak. Not that they’d been able to afford a paper delivery.

Bucky’s eyes had taken on a glassy look. “And I was reading _Grapes of Wrath_ that winter too. Or was it _Mice and Men_?”

Since Bucky wasn’t apparently in the middle of a crisis, Steve flopped back onto the pillows, rubbing his eyes. “Everything Steinbeck writes is the goddamn same.”

“Pal, you wouldn’t know literature if it bit you on the ass.” Bucky threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“You can’t just _not return_ library books. Think of the fines!”

“The fines? Bucky, it’s been seventy years. It’s...” Steve sat up and squinted at the analog clock on the nightstand. “It’s three in the fucking morning.”

“And?” He pulled on a black shirt, the gleam of his arm vanishing under the fabric. “Books don’t get less overdue.”

“We don’t even know where they are, you aren’t seriously...” The window squealed in the frame as Bucky shoved it open. “At least take your cell phone this time. Bucky!”

Bucky was already gone.

Steve collapsed back on the bed and pressed a pillow over his face.

 

Liza Faller unlocked the Crown Heights branch of the Brooklyn Public Library every morning at 10, and was used to the lurking figures who waited outside. Libraries were a civic institution and that meant books and education and also a warm place to sit all day and a bathroom to wash in. That was important. But the man who slipped through the door shortly after opening wasn’t one of the regulars. He was dressed all in black, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and long hair tied in a messy bun. He didn’t look particularly under-fed or scruffy, despite a day’s worth of stubble, but there was something furtive in the way he moved that marked him as something other than a hipster on his way to the gym.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she logged onto the computer at the circulation desk. He was lingering by the door, clutching his backpack and scanning the room intently. A spike of anxiety shivered through her and she edged a little closer to the panic button under the desk that she had never used.

The man caught her gaze and strode forward. He walked like a soldier, determined strides eating up the distance. Liza’s fingers tightened on the edge of the desk. Something about him was familiar; his face, not the way he moved. A celebrity look-alike? Some sort of model? FBI’s most wanted?

“Excuse me, ma’am.” His accent was Brooklyn, with just a hint of something foreign, like her neighbor’s Polish granny who had been in New York since 1939 but still yelled in Yiddish when she was angry. “I have some overdue books to return.” He put the backpack on the counter.

Liza relaxed a little. People got all kinds of guilty and weird about overdue books. “That’s quite alright. Do you have your library card?”

“No, I uh. I think I’d better just show you.” He unzipped the backpack and pulled out four books. Immediately she knew they were not books in circulation. They were old, the pages yellowing and covers worn, with no stickers or barcodes.

“I think there’s some mistake,” she said. “These aren’t library books.”

He flipped open the cover of the book on top of the stack. Sure enough, on the inside of the cover, edges peeling, was a bookplate bearing the torch and ribbon emblem, with BROOKLYN PUBLIC LIBRARY blazoned under it. On the facing page was a circulation card, with _Dumas, Alexandre: Count of Monte C 1928_ typed across the top.

Gently, Liza slid the card out of its pocket. The last check-out was dated 11/19/41. The signature was sloppy, in faded blue ink - _James_ , then something starting with B. There was no return marked.

“I.” She swallowed. “You’re... returning this?”

“It’s overdue, isn’t it?”

“Overdue? It’s... historic.” Her heart was beating fast. “Where did you find them?”

He smiled, a little sheepishly. “I checked them out. Sorry to return them so late, ma’am. My Ma’d be ashamed.”

“You... you checked them out?” She sputtered and looked more closely at him, then down at the card in front of her. His face, that full mouth, that dimpled chin. She _had_ seen him before, but it wasn’t on a Calvin Klein billboard or a wanted poster. It had been in her high school history book. “James... Barnes? James Buchanan Barnes?”

He flashed a grin at her, movie-star bright. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re... here to return these library books,” she said, feeling vaguely as if she were floating outside her own body.

“Property of the Brooklyn Public Library. Says right there.” He pointed to the stamp, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, and she realized he was teasing her. “It’s only right to bring ‘em back. I reckon I’ve got some late fees due though. What do I owe you?”

“What do you owe me?” She was holding first edition copies of _The Grapes of Wrath_ , _The Sword in the Stone,_ and _The Maltese Falcon,_ and a historic translation of _the Count of Monte Cristo._ Rare books were not her specialty, but she was fairly certain there was a small fortune already sitting on the circulation desk. She gathered her most professional demeanor. “Mr. Barnes, since your account was presumably closed and the books marked as lost sometime last century, I can say with confidence that you are no longer accumulating late fees. It was generous of you to return these books at all and I think under the circumstances we can waive the fee.”

 

**Books Stolen From Smithsonian Returned to Public Library**

_New York Times_ , April 7th 2018

The Brooklyn Public Library announced this week that four books are being added to their rare and historic book collection, which arrived at the library under unusual circumstances. Following the announcement, the Smithsonian released a statement declaring the books stolen from their archives.

The books were checked out in 1941 under the name James Barnes – Captain America’s best friend – and were part of a large collection of domestic items donated to the Smithsonian by Barnes’ youngest sister in 1985. A number of the items that were not considered directly relevant to Captain America’s historic significance were put in storage at the museum. Among them, it transpires, were four valuable early editions of John Steinbeck, T H White, Dashiell Hammett and Alexandre Dumas. It appears that Barnes and Rogers enjoyed reading adventure stories long before they became heroes of their own.

The museum theft was apparently not discovered until the library’s announcement, after the books were returned last week. It remains uncertain which institution will ultimately retain possession of the volumes, which are estimated in combined worth at over $140, 000 for the value of the original editions alone, not to mention Barnes’ signature in each. One thing seems clear however – Captain America wants you to return your library books.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little bit of crack that I thought up with a friend today and whipped out in a hurry.   
> If you like what you see, follow me on tumblr @stillwaterseas  
> Tell me what you think, comments are love!


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